Ache
by theneoncake
Summary: Arthur goes into a depression of sorts, seeing as how he has "fallen out of love" with Alfred. He hides it for years, but one day he ends up confessing and everything shatters. This shows the night before and the morning after it all happened. USUK, Slight FrUK, Depressed!Arthur,


**I do not own Hetalia or any of the beautiful characters.**

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Arthur tugged on his coat at three in the morning, he wasn't in the slightest tired. A midnight stroll would be nice to get his mind off _things_. Things that shouldn't be on his mind in the first place. Horrible things.

The Brit lived with Alfred, which was no surprise. But after endless years of staying in the same home, following the same routine every single day, it was starting to drive him mad. It was like a fairy tale, but only to be lived over and over and over again each day.

He started having thoughts of suicide, but a gentleman would never resort to such a thing. It would almost be laughable if he killed himself. But even so, would it ease this pain that raked through his heart?

Only then he knew, that the nausea that had settled in his stomach could only mean something was wrong. Something was wrong with this happy atmosphere he was forced into every single god damn day.

Arthur thrust open the door, making sure not to make any sounds that would disturb the American's slumber. He wouldn't wake up if you hit frying pans over him anyways, so what was the point?

Stepping out into the freezing cold, he breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving the house was one of the things that calmed his mind. The cold air had seemed to always drug him into a state of calmness. Well, could he even call it calm? No, no, no… More like, emotionless.

His thoughts were jumbled on the porch that he stood on like a frozen ice sculpture. He just stood there. He had to clear his head, he had to get away. Get away from the pain that was Alfred. The very same man that made his heart ache every time they made eye contact.

It wasn't that the other male abused him or was cruel to him in any way. It was Arthur. Arthur was the one who caused his own pain. His own aching heart. His own tears that he cried. His own silent screams. His own… They were all his own fault.

After all this time of being together, Arthur couldn't stand to be around Alfred anymore. It just hurt. It hurt to look at that smile every day, and it hurt to be kissed or hugged by his lover. It hurt to lie this much.

Arthur made his way down the stairs of the porch, and rushed to the parked car in the driveway. He hopped in, almost slamming the door as he stared at the necklace hanging from his rearview mirror. A necklace the other had given him years ago, dangling there.

He almost snapped right then and there. Everywhere he looked, there was Alfred. Anything and everything was Alfred. The Brit thought that maybe his lover was trying to do this on purpose.

The British man turned the car on, backing out of the driveway and heading to his usual hangout at the time at night. The bar. Or the Pub. He didn't really care right now. He only knew that alcohol would take away this feeling that lingered in his stomach.

Alfred was bound to find out soon enough. It would either be by confession or just connecting the dots. He had probably started seeing his change in behavior, his mysterious disappearances. It was most likely obvious.

When he found out, he would say something like, "You lied to me..!" Or even, "How could you do this?!" and then he would break down. He was never the strongest person and that's why Arthur has to lie. He couldn't see Al, his precious Al; break down in pieces like that.

So here he was, running away from his problems like he always seemed to do. Not the small problems, but the big ones like this one. His lies, all of them were lies. He almost parked on the side of the road to break down and cry. He just felt... so horrible. But with the chance of someone seeing him in mind, he decided to hold it in. It could wait.

When he arrived at the alcoholic place, he strode in, hands in pockets, and hair on end. Anybody here could easily recognize him if they knew exactly who he was. The man did come here a lot and the woman behind the bar seemed to know his life story by now. Ironically the only thing he knew about her was her name; Elizabeta Hedervary. But everyone called her Lizzy.

He saluted to her as a way of saying hello, like he always did. She waved in return. When he sat at the bar, of course on a bar stool, his usual drink was already on the wooden counter. Not that it was surprising that it was already there.

"You're back again? What happened this time?" She cleaned out a shot glass with a fabric used just for cleaning.

He picked up the small glass full of a kind of fix for him, swirling the liquid around as he talked. "Ah, just the usual… I'm having troubles with keeping this whole thing a secret to tell the truth." He gulped all the liquid down in one toss of the head.

"Is that so? And what are you going to do about it? Tell him?" She replied back, leaning against the counter, stopping her cleaning.

"There is absolutely no way I could tell him that I've been lying to him all these years. I could never…" He almost started to cry at that moment, but still kept his poker face except for the slight glisten in his eyes.

Francis suddenly appeared out of nowhere, sitting in the stool next to the man who had his walls broken down piece by piece by this woman who only asked simple questions. It proved how weak he had become.

"Bonjour Arthur, it seems you are having romantic troubles? I could help you there, my friend." The Frenchman leaned on the palm of his hand.

"Get out of here you frog, I don't need your romantic advice." The Brit turned angrily towards the man he despised with a deep hatred. "If anything, I need you to get out of my bloody sight…"

"Oooh, how cruel. If only you would be nicer to me, then maybe we could be friends, no?"

Arthur tried to stay calm but soon the other's shirt collar was in his hand. "Just shut. Up. If you don't shut your trap, I swear to God. I will smash the bottle of alcohol over your big head, and hopefully the pieces of glass get stuck, forcing you to have to pull them out one by one." His grip on the fabric of the Frenchman's shirt only tightened at that statement.

Francis's face suddenly dropped to a more serious look as he tried to pry the Brit's hand off of his shirt. "Are you picking fights now? I thought you were better than that."

"Better? If only you hadn't shown up, I wouldn't be picking any fights and you know that. Your face just angers me every time I look at it."

There was no way that the hand on Francis's shirt would let up easily, the only way to probably get the other off of him was a very violent way. So he punched Arthur.

A silent sound was made as the smaller man fell back on his own stool and to the floor. He looked up from the ground at the blonde, wiping away the blood that dripped from his nose.

"Y-You bastard!" The Brit stood off the ground, placing a shaky hand against the counter to steady himself. He quickly punched Francis, making him back off the stool and not fall onto the floor. "Dammit… How are you so much stronger than I?!" He started to tear up and to panic on the inside. He couldn't cry in front of his enemy!

"You never had to start a fight with moi!" The long haired man yelled, tapping his chest.

"You're the one that started to talk to me! Of course I would pick a damn fight with you; all I want to do is be left alone!" Arthur stormed back.

Another blow to Francis and that was the beginning of when they were at each other's throats. Dodging and punching and kicking were the sort of things that began to be seen between the two.

Lizzy, who had thought this as nothing than usual fighting, realized this was not just fighting, but there was a weird murderous intent on Arthur's side. That's when she intervened and called for help of security or some kind of burly men to come and stop this fight before it got to a certain point where things would not just be a bar fight anymore.

Some lonely men who had been drinking together came over, seeing the fight and pulled the two away from each other, Francis didn't struggle much, but Arthur on the other hand was kicking the man in the shins to get his hands around the Frenchman's neck.

"Get your hands off me, you idiotic-" The small male was silenced by a hand over his mouth, there was no need to anger Francis even more.

Lizzy suddenly ordered the men to take the Brit out of the bar before he tried to murder someone else.

Being thrown out onto the now snow covered ground only made the tears start down his cheeks. "I-… I'm sorry Al… I'm sorry…" He held his face in his hands.

Standing, he walked to his car, leaning a hand against the wall for leverage as he cried quietly to himself, sobbing. He wasn't drunk enough for this pain to suppress itself. Wasn't intoxicated enough for this aching pain to stop.

He took out his keys, but his hand shook so hard from his sobbing that he couldn't seem to unlock the car door.

He might as well walk anyway… He wouldn't be able to drive like this.

Arthur decided he would buy a bottle of Bourbon on the way home, drink it to until was gone on the couch in the living room. If Alfred saw him, then fine. A confession would be made at that moment. He would finally be free from all the lies. All the torture.

He bought the bottle with the cash he had on him, and as soon as he exited, he popped the cap off and starting to drink it down.

The tears still streaked down his face as his throat burned from the taste of the liquid. He almost smiled as he knew the pain would soon leave his chest, the pressure would ease off his shoulders.

When he arrived home, the bottle was almost empty. He had taken the long way to avoid seeing Alfred look at him that one way he always did when he was concerned.

By the time he had entered through the doorway, it was morning. And surprisingly as soon as he entered there was Alfred. Then and only then, the tears stopped, making him drop the bottle. The glass flew across the hard wood floor as eye contact was met.

"A-Alfred… You're up? Isn't it like, five in the morning…?"

"Arthur, it's actually seven in the morning… I woke up to you and the car gone, and a frantic panic to find you only made things worse." He started to tug off the coat he had just put on. "But you're here, so I guess I have to stop worrying."

"Al… I can't stand It any longer… Please, let me free."

"W-What?" Alfred seemed confused.

"I can't handle hiding it anymore… I-I haven't been in love with f-for years now." He blurted it out just to get it over with. "I just… I just didn't want to be alone… I don't want you to leave me once again…" He was hugging Alfred now, hands holding onto the white shirt he slept in as if for dear life.

"You… You haven't been…" The realization took over. "I have… Are you saying when I make love to you… When I say I love you… It was all a lie when you told me it in return?"

"Al… Please, don't say that…"

"I…" He paused. "I can't be with someone who doesn't love me back."

"I'm so sorry…"

"I can't be with you anymore."

"I'm sorry…"

"I can't kiss you anymore."

"I'm sorry…!"

"I can't hug you anymore."

"I'm sorry!" He started to cry again.

"I can't… I can't see you anymore."

The sobs echoed through the whole house and Arthur was sure the whole neighborhood could hear them.

Alfred continued on. "Please let go of my shirt… Arthur, please!" His voice cracked.

And Arthur obeyed, he let go of the other's now slightly wet shirt. He watched the one he had once loved walk away and into the bedroom. There was fumbling heard, and then a zipper. Clothes ripped off their hangers and thrown into a suitcase, nothing more.

The silence started to eat away at him, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything. Couldn't bring himself to say sorry again. Couldn't bring himself to leave. All he could was stand and watch as his once lover walked away from him.

Alfred, suitcase in hand, walked out of the bedroom. "You can have the house… You're the one who got it in the first place." Eye contact wasn't really an option right now.

"Wash the clothes of mine that are dirty and return them to me please." He said without a hint of happiness in his voice. Not a hint of anything.

Arthur only nodded slowly, wiping his face as tear after tear fell. This was just like that time…

Then the man was gone, having called a taxi while in the bedroom. He threw the suitcase in and sat down. As they drove away, he could see Alfred clutch his face in his shaky hands.

The Brit on the other hand, had sat down on the couch after the car disappeared from sight. He stared at the ceiling, the ceiling he and Alfred were living under. Together. But now it was all gone. By it, he meant everything. His life in particular was practically over. Alfred probably wouldn't speak to him for years on end. Maybe even centuries…

He put a hand over his heart, feeling the beating of his heart. The beating that signified that he lived. That he would live on to remember the sins he had committed over the years.

But had the aching stopped yet?

**So yeah. That was something I wrote after finishing a really sad book. If you guys are wondering what the book was, it was The Priest's Graveyard. BE WARNED. There's lots of blood and icky things. I'll probably write an epilogue for this cause it needs one. Or have I already wrote one? Hononononono. xD**


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